


5 Times Katrina and Harvey Were Just Friends (+1 Where They Were Something More)

by FrivolousSuits



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Aromanticism, Asexuality, Family, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Movie References, Nonbinary Character, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 21:39:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17231660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrivolousSuits/pseuds/FrivolousSuits
Summary: "You know I care for you deeply in a completely asexual manner.""And I too care for you deeply and see you neither as man nor woman.""Thank you, Louis. Kinder words were never spoken."- Katrina and Louis, s8e01





	5 Times Katrina and Harvey Were Just Friends (+1 Where They Were Something More)

**Author's Note:**

> Canon-compliant, as of the end of 8a.

1

Katrina hunches over her makeshift desk in the back of the file room, sunglasses on, lights off except for the one small desk lamp she’s stashed in an unlabeled cardboard box for bad days. It’s past midnight– 2:13:46 to be precise– but she’s a senior partner with a hard deadline. She can’t go home until she’s finished this opening statement, selected exactly the right words to finish off her competition before they even start.

Anyway, what does she have to go home to?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Katrina straightens up with a short gasp, because it’s now 2:16 AM. The firm should be deserted. Yet that’s the sound of heavy shoes pounding the floor, and increasingly heavy breathing– not the fun kind, in Katrina’s opinion, but then again she’s hardly an expert in the matter– and now the door squeaks and the lock clicks into place–

Katrina shoots to her feet. She hasn’t seen many horror movies, but she’s familiar with the tropes, and the file room is a perfect candidate for “haunted liminal space.” Quiet as she can, she picks up a particularly dense binder from the McKernon acquisition deal and creeps towards the sound, inching forward along the shelves, files raised up, poised for attack–

There’s no monster. Or perhaps there is, a legendary one in fact, but this particularly creature of the night wears Tom Ford and is sitting curled up against one end of a shelf with his face in his hands, with no regard for the designer pants he’s surely dirtying. He’s still breathing hard. Katrina hears a sob.

“Harvey?”

She rushes to flick the lights on. He whips his head up, eyes large and wild.

“Are you having a _heart attack_?”

“No,” he rasps. “If you dare call an ambulance–”

“A panic attack?”

His eyes unfocus, and then he flinches, rubbing his forehead hard with his hands.

All right. There’s no need for her to panic as well. She’s read this book, she’s got a list of fifteen adequate responses to a panic attack filed away somewhere in her memory. Step one: offer a reassuring touch. Except no, she shouldn’t offer a reassuring touch, not when it might constitute harassment and potentially worry Harvey further. Before hugging a colleague she ought to ask for consent first, but bombarding him with questions might only overwhelm him, and that’s not what she wants at all . . .

She settles for patting him twice on the back. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Perhaps another technique will be more effective. She remembers that verbal reassurance can be useful in such situations.

“For what it’s worth, the world isn’t ending.” Immediately her scrupulous side points out that multiple geopolitical and biological threats are likely shifting humanity towards its inevitable apocalypse, so she adds, “Imminently.”

She’s doing her best.

“Would you like some tea?”

He emits a wet sigh and finally nods.

She dashes back, because she’s prepared for this. She has a mug and a hardy thermos full of a soothing herbal blend that she’s picked out especially to tackle her migraines. After verifying that the tea has cooled enough that he won’t burn himself if– when– his hands tremble, she grabs the thermos, unscrews the top, and brings it back to him. “You can drink straight from it, I’ll sterilize it later.”

He takes a long swallow, and slowly his breathing evens out.

“So,” he jokes, his voice still low and scratchy, “you’re the Black Widow talking me down from Hulk mode.”

“The what?”

He waves a hand dismissively. “It’s a Marvel thing.”

“A what?”

Now he cranes his neck up, looking at her properly for the first time. “You know, the Marvel superhero universe?”

“I assume that’s a pop culture reference.” He squints at her, and she starts stuttering. “I– I know a couple niche shows, but not most of the classics.”

“You should fix that.”

She snorts. “I honestly wouldn’t know where to start.”

He lowers the thermos and glances around the room, frowning. “What are you doing down here? I assume you weren’t just diving into the first private space you could find.”

“Not quite,” she says. “But I get migraines, and this is a nice quiet spot to work.”

“Until I barged in,” he replies, mirroring her apologetic smile.

“No, no, you’re fine! I mean, you’re not fine, but . . . there is no interpersonal tension between us. That I know of.”

Now his smile warms. “Good to know.”

“I like being down here anyway,” she admits without thinking it through, “just to escape all the glass.”

“The glass?”

“All the windows,” she explains. “I love my office, don’t get me wrong, but I always feel like I’m an exhibit at a zoo. It’s scary when people look at me, and . . . it’s lonely when they don’t. The migraines get worse from the stress, honestly.”

Strategically speaking, she shouldn’t admit that to Harvey, to yet another name partner who could erase her in an hour if he so desired.

“The stress is killing me,” he answers a moment later.

She’s glad she did.

“The stress from work?”

“Not really, it’s a lot of other things,” he says, head tilting to the side, his voice soft and contemplative. “Mainly one other thing.”

She waits, but he’s not forthcoming on the details.

After a minute, he seems to regain some measure of strength. He pushes himself up and straightens his jacket and brushes the fine layer of dust off his pants.

“Time to face the world again,” he remarks.

“Good-bye,” Katrina tells him. After an awkward pause, she adds, “You can come back whenever you want. Panic attacks not required, it’s just nice to be away from people. Together. Not that you’re not people. I swear I’m better in court.”

She hopes her sleep-deprived stammering is charming rather than upsetting, and indeed Harvey gives her a grin. A real grin, the kind she hasn’t seen grace his face in months.

 

2

The next time Harvey knocks.

“Come in!”

He lets himself into the file room; he’s not in the middle of a panic attack, though a subtler weariness coils up in his shoulders. She considers asking for an update on his anxiety disorder but decides against it, for discretion’s sake.

“I’ve got a gift,” he announces. “I purchased the first Captain America movie, which is as good a place as any to start catching up on pop culture.” He briefly pauses. “I think he’d agree.”

“That’s . . .” She blinks her eyes, because no, dammit, she is not about to tear up over basic friendship again. “Very kind of you.”

“Do you have time today?”

“Of course . . .” Katrina consults her neatly color-coded planner. “Not. I’m so sorry, could we do tomorrow evening, maybe 7:30? Just for a couple hours, I have an overseas call at midnight.”

He glances up, mentally checking his own schedule. “7:30’s fine by me.”

“It’s a date.” She hears the words escape her lips. “Wait, no, it’s not a date!”

Harvey lifts an eyebrow.

“Wait, is it a date?”

“I didn’t intend it as one,” Harvey replies, bemused.

“Oh, thank god,” she says in one breathless rush.

Harvey lifts both eyebrows. “No one’s ever celebrated _not_ dating me.”

“No,” Katrina blurts, “I didn’t mean to offend, it’s just . . .”

She trails off, and Harvey chuckles. “No explanation necessary.”

As he leaves, Katrina exhales in a slow, controlled fashion and mentally kicks herself.

-

Katrina bakes cookies for their non-date, since they’re delicious and hopefully thoroughly unromantic. Harvey seems to appreciate them, and in turn Katrina appreciates his choice in movie. They’re in his office, on the side couch where they’re half-visible to spectators, and it’s an intimate scene, but not quite private. As far as Katrina can tell the only sexual subtext arises from Harvey, who during the reveal scene gazes intently at Captain America’s bare chest.

When the credits roll– for some reason Harvey won’t close the window just yet– he muses, “That was nice.”

“It was.”

“We should do it again. This movie’s got loads of sequels.”

“I’d love that,” Katrina confesses. “But I should make something clear.”

“Yeah?”

“I know in movies sometimes people say that they’re not interested when they really are, or that they’re not dating and they really are, but I’m really not . . . interested. You’re interesting, you’re a very interesting man, but I’m not. Interested.”

Harvey considers her pronouncement for several unreasonably long seconds. “Because of your associate?”

“. . . You talked to Donna.”

“Yeah.”

Katrina winces. “Look, I know she’s seen me having intimate conversations with Brian late at night, and we went out to dinner, and I know Louis caught me feeling sad because Brian has a family and a baby already, but it’s not what it looks like.”

“Really,” Harvey intones.

“Really! For one thing, I just got promoted to senior partner. Falling in love with a random man and then choosing him for my personal associate would be . . . just about the worst decision I can imagine.”

“I imagine the falling-in-love part’s not usually a conscious decision,” Harvey observes. “But yes.”

“It’s not something I’d do,” she declares.

Harvey shrugs. “Fine. But that’s still a hell of a lot of evidence without a solid alternate explanation.”

A post-credits scene interrupts them, and Katrina turns her attention to it. It buys her a minute to weigh the risks.

When it’s over and he shuts his laptop, she breaks her silence. “I’d like to first point out that the bylaws bar discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation.”

He freezes, a funny look on his face. “Are you in love with his wife?”

“What?” she squawks. “No!”

“Not even a little?”

“No,” she insists, straightening up and straining to compose herself. “I’m not wired that way. The word for it’s ‘asexual.’”

She tenses up, waiting for the backlash.

All Harvey says at first is “Nice.”

After a moment he glances away from her, instead looking out his window. “Sounds pretty convenient.”

“It is!” Katrina says, a smile twitching at her lips. “At least, I like it. Sex is an interesting biological phenomenon, love is intriguing from both a chemical and a historical, even evolutionary perspective, and porn? Don’t get me started on porn, it’s a fascinating watch for anyone curious about a culture’s Zeitgeist, but . . . I’m fine with it staying on the other side of the screen.”

“Huh.” Harvey’s looking at her again, but his expression is more curious than judgemental. “That’s an unusual perspective.”

His eyes are sparkling like he’s suppressing a laugh, but Katrina doesn’t think it’s _at her_.

“Yeah,” Katrina says, a strange relief settling into her the more she opens up. “But on the other hand it’s a little lonely sometimes, and it’s sad knowing I’m not going to get a traditional family. With Brian, he’s tired and overstretched and stressed out at home, but . . . at least he can have that.”

“Don’t overvalue the ‘traditional family,’” Harvey replies, his mouth now curled into a bitter smirk.

She could be wrong, but Katrina still doesn’t think his bitterness is meant for her.

“ _Iron Man,_ next week?” he says, shaking himself out of his reverie.

“I’d love that.”

 

3

Their movie sessions move to Harvey’s grand apartment. It happens naturally, when baseball season starts up and they realize Harvey’s gigantic plasma screen is the perfect way to watch the Red Sox crash and burn. They don’t move away even when the season’s over, which is how Katrina ends up slumped against Harvey on his couch, howling over the end of _Casablanca_.

“Rick let her go!”

“He did,” Harvey agrees, taking a drink from his scotch. “It was for the greater good, and her marriage.”

“But still,” she protests, “he’s going to spend the rest of his life even more screwed-up and cynical than he started, all because he let her go!”

He quietly disentangles himself and gets her another scotch too. That comforts her somewhat, and halfway through the glass she’s shifted from kneejerk emotion to intellectual film analysis.

“Really, it’s interesting how _Casablanca_ constructs its different images of romantic love,” she declaims, gesturing emphatically. “And it’s a fascinating point of comparison if we juxtapose it with, say, _Pride and Prejudice_ from two weeks ago . . .”

Harvey watches her rambling monologue with a now-familiar look of bemusement.

“Honestly, it's strange to me, that Rick could be so very 'in love'–" she uses air quotes– "that he'd be willing to cross so many of his own lines, only to give up the person he’s apparently chemically addicted to! Do you understand that?”

“Yeah.”

Katrina blinks, speech derailed. “You do? Have you . . . experienced Casablanca levels of romantic love?”

He shrugs. “You could say that.”

“That’s literally epic,” she says, her eyes widening. “By sheer cultural stature _Casablanca_ is the modern American equivalent of the epic, that’s–”

“It was just one time,” Harvey interrupts with a small shake of the head. “Not a big deal.”

Katrina narrows her eyes. “Epic.”

He snorts. “It’s really not. It’s just me, thinking for too long about someone whose name I’m never going to say out loud–”

“Mike.”

His eyes snap up. “What?”

“I tried ranking all the people most closely linked to you professionally and personally, excepting relatives for obvious reasons, and analyzed all the data I have on your relationships with them.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Most people would have guessed Donna.”

“Oh.” She slumps forward in chagrin. “Right. I hadn’t gotten around to checking her yet, I apologize for jumping to conclusions.”

He shifts on the couch, a peculiar glint in his eye. “Why do you think it’s Mike?”

“Well, you nearly went to prison for him,” she replies matter-of-factly.

“Yeah.”

“You burned down the firm for him.”

He grimaces. “I did, didn’t I?”

“You gave me a job for him.”

“What?”

She frowns at his seemingly genuine surprise. “I caught him committing malpractice, and when I threatened to turn him in to the bar and take away his license . . . you bribed me with this job to shut me up.”

Harvey lets his head drop back against the couch, looking dazed. “I forgot this.”

“It was a Class B felony,” she chirps. “The statute of limitations expires next week.”

She expects him to smile at that, but he barely acknowledges it. Instead he stares down at his empty cup, murmuring, “I lost track of everything I did for him.”

“You should keep records,” Katrina suggests before she actually evaluates the idea. “Wait. No. Don’t keep records.”

He doesn’t seem to hear.

She leans forward. “Was I . . . right?”

He glances up at her, pondering the question for a long while. “No one else knows.”

“I see.”

He looks as downtrodden as Rick at his most broken. A massive sigh shudders out of him. “Love sucks.”

“Yes,” she promptly confirms, “that is what the books say.”

 

4

Katrina can smell the chaos the minute she steps out of the elevator. She can’t identify the source until she runs smack into Mike Ross, who is inexplicably not in Seattle.

“Mike? What are you doing here?”

Mike inhales, steeling himself. “Short version: I broke up with Rachel. Signed the papers right before I left for the airport to come back home.”

Katrina’s face lights up.

“Oh my god, that’s the–” she catches herself just in time– “worst thing I’ve heard all day.”

“. . . It’s only 9am.”

Katrina rapidly excuses herself, leaving him with a puzzled frown on his face, and texts Harvey. _War room, 18:00._

-

Harvey's already at the back of the file room by the time Katrina marches in and locks the door behind her. He’s pale, peaky, leaning against a shelf for support.

“Please don’t have a panic attack.”

“I tell myself that five times a day, it never works.”

“We’re going to fix this,” she briskly informs him.

“My brain?”

“No, your broken love story that has all the structure of a perfect romance only to keep missing its climactic plot beat.”

“What the–”

“I have flow charts,” she continues. “Specifically, I have five possible plans of attack, each of which has its own flow chart.”

He gives her a blank stare.

“If you’d prefer I can also pull up the PowerPoint.”

“. . . How about we work through this verbally?”

“Adapt to your communication style?” Katrina asks. “Of course, we can do that.”

She pulls a stack of index cards from her pocket and launches into a well-organized oral presentation.

-

“Look,” Harvey says, pacing around the file room several hours later, “we both agree that part 2, subsection b renders plan 4 gravitationally impossible.”

“I still like plan 2,” Katrina shoots back.

“It’s illegal.”

“He’ll appreciate the drama.”

“No. I’ve done so many illegal things for him, the romance has worn off.”

“Oh, right.” Katrina plucks one notecard from the elaborate arrangement across the floor and draws an “X” across the lined side. “So that leaves us with plan 1.”

“Great,” says Harvey.

“You’ll do it?”

“Not in a million years.”

“Harvey–”

“If I could just walk up to him,” he says, spinning around on his heel to face her, “and ask him out on a date, I would have done it years ago.”

“But then my PowerPoint wouldn’t exist!”

He glares at her. “It’s a non-starter.”

Katrina drops back into her chair.

“Fine,” she says. “I understand and respect your boundaries on this issue.”

“Thank you.”

“And if you don’t ask him out in the next 24 hours, I will go to him myself and tell him that you’ve got a crush on him but you’re afraid to ask him because you’re a third-grader and you’re afraid he might tell you you’ve got cooties.”

“ _Excuse me?”_

“Neither of us is above blackmail,” she says, lifting her chin. “And you’d do the same for me.”

“You wouldn’t do something as stupid as falling for your associate in the first place,” Harvey points out.

“ _Go_.”

-

He doesn’t talk to her the next day.

He doesn’t need to, because when he strolls in past her office at 11:16am and throws her a smile through the glass, it tells her everything she wants to know. Well, not quite everything. The moment he strides past her office without stopping in, Katrina commits to restraining the inquiring scientist within her for the sake of her subjects’ privacy, and she succeeds.

For four days.

Four days later, she knocks and walks into Harvey’s office in broad daylight– he mysteriously disappears before sundown nowadays– and asks how things are going.

“Well,” he replies, leaning back in his chair and grinning. “Really well.”

“You hit a home run yet?”

He frowns in confusion.

“Or made it to third base?” she amends. “I’ll admit I’m not entirely clear how this system of metaphors maps onto sex involving two phalli–”

“Katrina,” Harvey cuts in, not unkindly.

“Yes?”

“I know we’ve had conversations on love. And sex. And porn. Very intimate conversations,” he adds, straining not to smile. “But this is the line. I am drawing it here.”

He swipes his finger across his desk.

“Oh,” Katrina says. “Right. Message received.”

She gives him a sharp salute, turns, and heads back to the door.

“Katrina?”

She looks back at him.

“Thanks for everything.”

-

She’s thrilled for Harvey, but she can’t help feeling a slight pang of concern for herself. People act strangely when they enter romantic relationships. They start prioritizing their romantic partners over everyone else in their lives. It therefore comes as a relief when Harvey texts her to confirm their next movie session, this time with Mike as a guest.

She drives to Harvey’s apartment straight from work, still wearing a suit that she spent an unusual amount of time selecting. Mike opens the door right after her first knock with a blissful smile on his face and invites her right in. Harvey’s busy microwaving popcorn in the kitchen, and he’s barefoot, dressed in sweats, and happier than Katrina’s ever seen him. She doesn’t understand it, but their joy is contagious.

Mike excuses himself to the restroom, and Katrina hops onto one of the stools while Harvey drizzles fresh butter on the popcorn.

“Nice suit,” he says.

It is a nice suit. A brand-new one, too, a Tom Ford Shelton Suit in luxurious navy wool.

A men’s suit, according to the Tom Ford website.

“Thanks,” she replies, briefly touching her hair, currently bound in a low ponytail. “I’m trying new things.”

Harvey is safe. She’s told herself that at least a hundred times, but still there’s the dizzying sense of standing at a cliff’s edge.

“I’m playing with gender presentation,” she elaborates hesitantly. “The whole ‘woman’ thing fits some days, but not _every_ day, so I’m going to try mixing things up.”

He looks up from the bowl of popcorn that he is at this moment mixing. “You’re experimenting?”

“I am.”

He presses his lips together, as if considering some severe declaration, and Katrina’s heart falls.

“I’ll donate 20 skinny ties to your experiments,” he says at last, “if you promise Mike never gets his hands on them again.”

She bursts out laughing, and he chuckles too.

“That’s the best reaction I’ve gotten so far,” she reflects. “At work I’ve told Louis too, and he’s trying to be supportive but . . . he’s still a little awkward about it.”

“Oh, Louis . . .”

“He’s trying!” Katrina insists.

“Anyone gives you a hard time, I’ll demolish them,” Harvey tells her. “Unless you’d like to do the honors, of course.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says. “How about you, any issues about you and Mike?”

“Yeah,” he admits, “but it’s because he’s my boss’s ex-son-in-law, not because he’s a guy.”

“So it’s a clear shot to 2.5 kids and the white picket fence?”

“Never,” he retorts in horror. “I refuse to bear the responsibility for not screwing up a kid. And if you think I’m moving out of this apartment for suburbia, you’re out of your mind.”

“Damn right.” Mike strides back into the room.

They take their popcorn and relocate to in front of the TV. Harvey sits in the center, one arm thrown around Katrina as usual, while he holds Mike’s hand with the other. Mike wisecracks his way through the movie, and Harvey laughs at every last joke, even when they aren’t that funny.

Katrina doesn’t get it. It’s still beautiful.

 

5

Mike’s out on Staten Island for a pro bono case, with Harvey’s blessing– pro bono cases are his only cases now that Harvey and Katrina designed a “Pro Bono Partner” role for him. Harvey doesn’t fret over the loneliness, instead asking Katrina to lunch. They head out of the office, passing Donna in the lobby as she hugs her new CEO boyfriend.

Once they’re a block away from their building, Katrina asks Harvey about his relationship with Mike, ever a source of fascination for her. With only a tiny nudge he starts waxing poetic.

“I never thought the feelings were mutual,” he says. “I mean, sure, he flirted at me, but he was an idiot kid. He flirted at everyone.”

“Even Rachel,” Katrina supplies.

“Whereas _I_ flirt with everyone as a matter of style, which is entirely different.”

“No,” she counters. “You never flirted with me.”

“I did.” He pauses. “I probably did.”

“So it’s more likely that you flirted with me and I didn’t notice than that you didn’t flirt with me in the first place?”

“Exactly.”

“Um.”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have meant it.”

“Oh, thank god!” She outright sighs in relief.

-

When Katrina returns to the office at 1pm, she finds a meeting she doesn’t remember scheduling on her planner. So she marches down the hallways, feeling grand and confident in her black Shelton suit, all the way to Donna’s office.

When she looks through the glass she finds that Donna’s there, but so are Louis and Brian, all sitting and waiting for her with grim expressions. It occurs to Katrina that she’s being fired, but she can’t understand why; she’s laid low on the criminal misconduct front for months. By this firm’s standards she’s a goddamn saint.

She steadies herself from her head to her shiny new loafers, because if she was being fired then Harvey would have the courage to be here too. She has faith in that friendship.

She steps inside.

There are some initial pleasantries– “Hi,” “Sit down,” “How are you,” normally all trivial social customs. Yet when she responds to the last of those with the well-tested, widely accepted response “Very well, thank you,” all three of them shoot her a skeptical look.

Donna leans forward, placing her forearms on her desk. “Are you really?”

It takes Katrina a second to analyze her tone. That’s not sarcasm, no, that’s genuine kindly concern out in the wild, but Katrina can’t imagine _why_.

She tries the direct approach. “I am, why do you ask?”

“Because of Mike,” Louis answers.

Katrina frowns at him. “Is there something wrong with Mike?”

“No–” now Brian steps in– “that’s not what we’re saying. We’re just worried there might be something wrong with _you_ and Mike.”

“I . . . don’t think there is?” Katrina racks her brain for a possible referent. “Anyway, I would hope if there was something wrong then he or at worst Harvey would come talk to me about it, they’re both good at speaking their mind. The obvious exception aside.”

Louis clarifies, “No, we don’t think Mike has a problem with you, but maybe you have a problem with Mike.”

“And Harvey,” Brian adds.

Katrina surveys all three of them. “I sincerely have no idea what the topic of this conversation is.”

Donna takes over. “Are you jealous of Mike because he got Harvey?”

At first Katrina can only gape.

“Why in the world would I be _jealous_?”

“Well, we know you’ve spent an unusual amount of time together,” Louis replies.

“Your scheduled escapes to the file room,” Donna fills in, “and his apartment.”

Katrina furrows her brow. “Those were for movies and baseball.”

“But,” Louis says, “baseball could be something more–”

“No, not the metaphorical kind,” Katrina firmly corrects.

Everyone else looks at her funny, and she starts to see what they’re getting at.

“Oh. All right. I spend a lot of time alone with Harvey, and we’ve started working on more matters together, and in our personal relationship we have unusually honest conversations on intimacy, love, and sex. So are you worried that I’m the third vertex in his love triangle, doomed now that the other edge has committed to joyous monogamy?”

Now Donna and Brian are gaping.

“Yes,” Louis says warily, “that is what we’re worrying about.”

“Got it,” Katrina says. “I appreciate your concern. It’s unnecessary though, because I’m not a vertex and never have been.”

They’re silent.

She rises and goes to leave. “And on that note, I still have to look over the Dockery briefs–”

“Katrina,” Brian breaks in, “are you really telling us you have _nothing_ but platonic feelings for Harvey?”

Her hand’s on the door. She pulls it away.

“I am. I’m not attracted to men.”

Donna’s eyes widen. “You’re lesbian?”

For a second, Katrina’s tempted to say “yes,” in case that’s still the path of least resistance.

“No, I’m not.” She turns back around and faces them all. “You can all imagine not being attracted to women, right?” They nod on cue. “Well, I feel that way, and I _know_ I’m not attracted to men, because I spent untold hours cuddling Harvey in dark corners and never felt the urge to so much as kiss him.”

“That’s impossible!” Louis cries.

“It happened.” She stands her ground. “I don’t feel that way about anyone, of any gender. And as a natural extension I’d appreciate if any and all speculation on my love life would cease, because my love life is nonexistent and I like it that way.” She pauses before tacking on, “While we’re at it, I’m still deciding whether I’m a woman, and I’ll get in touch if I need any of my paperwork changed.”

“I . . .” Brian’s jaw drops open. “I don’t know if I understand.”

“I can live with that,” Katrina replies, kind but firm. “All you really need to know is that I’m Katrina Bennett, one of the best lawyers in New York, and with your permission I’d like to get back to my work.”

The three of them look stunned, Louis less so than the others, and Katrina swallows down a giddy laugh.

“You can go.” Donna breaks the silence first. “And, Katrina, if there’s anything more we can do to support you, please let us know.”

Katrina considers asking for a raise, but that might not be the kind of support Donna means right now. “I most certainly will.”

-

She expects that to be the most emotionally charged conversation of the work week. She needs to stop making projections like that on Monday.

Friday night at 11:34pm, she’s at her favorite hangout, the table tucked into the back of the file room. She hears the footsteps. The click of the lock. Harvey’s red-cheeked and wild-eyed.

“Katrina,” he gasps, “I just had a talk with Mike.”

His hair is mussed, and is that a bruise on his neck?

“What the hell happened?” Katrina demands, rising from her seat and preparing to throttle Mike if necessary.

“I asked him to end my agony.”

She narrows her eyes.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

 _Pride and Prejudice_ , she knows this reference!

“Can I be your planner?”

“What?”

“You have colors to coordinate,” she says, bubbling over with excitement, “and venues to book, and caterers, and entertainment, and oh my god you need a seating chart!”

Harvey looks at her in bewilderment. “Do you want to?”

“Are you kidding?” she cries. “I love weddings, the whole aesthetic is to die for! Though not quite worth the headache of being married, in my case.”

Harvey beams at her. “In that case, Katrina Amanda Bennett, will you do me the honor of being the Ross-Specter wedding planner?”

 

+1

Sitting in Harvey’s office, Katrina watches him read through a contract she's lavished hundreds of hours upon. Though he tries to keep his poker face on, she reads hundreds of emotions in the flicker of his eyes.

He finally sets it down on the table. “Are you sure?”

“I am,” Katrina says. “And I’m just as sure that I want you in the baby’s life. I want you and Mike to be the cool uncles, the go-to babysitters. I want us to be a family.”

“And everything else is worked out?”

“I’ve found a trustworthy surrogate,” Katrina assures him. “I have the required eggs, and assuming that you consent I presume you can provide an adequate number of sperm–”

“Yeah, don't worry about that,” he says with a smirk. “But numbers aside, are you really sure you want me?”

“I am. I considered 23 candidates–”

“Excuse me?” Harvey instantly switches from skeptical to insulted.

“Most importantly your husband, but I ran some initial genetic testing–”

“You _what_?”

“And I found that you both have comparable tendencies towards mental and physical illness– oh, and I compiled a list of medical exams you should consider over the next couple years– so on health grounds neither of you clearly edges out the other.”

“What exams.”

“So then,” Katrina forges on, “I turned to strengths and abilities. Obviously Mike’s memory is a considerable force to take into account, but there’s no clear guarantee of that being passed on, and a child who _doesn’t_ inherit that might end up feeling insecure.”

“That’s possible–”

“So I turn to you, because you lack any one extraordinary trait.”

“Great,” he deadpans.

“You’re well-rounded,” Katrina explains. “You’ve got intelligence, both intellectual and emotional, and you have considerable athletic ability, and going by your own sense of style and your parents’ careers, you may possess an innate level of creative genius.”

Harvey raises his chin, preening. “You make a good case.”

“Also– and this isn’t the primary basis for my decision, just a perk– you are more aesthetically pleasing than your husband.”

“You take that back right now.”

“I will not,” she retorts with a wide grin.

“Fine.” He settles back into his chair with a thoughtful smile of his own. “Honesty’s good to have within a family.”


End file.
